


Exits

by ipsilateral



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: F/M, Gen, light Grace/Alex, light Grace/Daniel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27091798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipsilateral/pseuds/ipsilateral
Summary: "Let's go. High ho, high ho," Daniel recites, swinging his arms jauntily, "it's off to work we go."He's on his second run through the chorus when they join the rest of the family by the doors, singing gibberish syllables since he doesn't actually know all the lyrics. Aunt Helene is flaying him alive with her stare but Mom smiles tightly and smooths an invisible wrinkle off his shoulder."Can you please take this seriously?" Dad asks in a weary voice, as he always does."It's my defense mechanism, Dad," Daniel tells him.-- 4 times Daniel Le Domas committed ritual sacrifice, and 1 time he didn't
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas & Grace Le Domas
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Exits

i.

Henry has strange yellow eyes that seem like they can see into another dimension, but he also has crooked ears and a white, heart-shaped spot down by his left hind leg. Whenever Daniel reaches a hand out, Henry always butts his head up against it. He's Daniel's favorite. 

"Why do you let him name the goddamn goats?" Dad mutters to Mom. 

"Oh, it makes him happy," Mom dismisses. She crouches and takes Daniel's face in her hands. "Sweetie, Mr. Henry has to go on his special trip now, okay? We have to send him away so that he can make someone else very happy, just like Miss Longstocking and Mr. Leghorn have."

"You can choose a new favorite," Dad cuts in before Daniel can argue. "Got a stable full of them. Or hey, we can even buy you a new one! How's that?"

Daniel pauses, then says, "Two new ones."

"Alright, Danny." Mom beams and stands up again. "Two new ones it is."

The whole family starts filing into the game room. Stevens has a rope curled around his forearm to guide Henry as Dad complains to him about the Le Domas Goat Sanctuary in their backyard. Daniel follows with Mom, one hand in her grasp and the other trying to keep his hood from falling over his eyes. She leads him to his spot at the table and as the adults get to work on tying Henry down, Daniel starts thinking about what to name his two new goats. 

ii.

It's almost midnight when the window slides open and a disembodied hand reaches through the curtains like some kind of teen slasher movie. Daniel just lies there and watches as Alex eventually crawls into the room, inching his way forward like he's participating in a wheelbarrow race.

"Just use the front door next time," Daniel says loudly, then laughs as Alex jerks in surprise, bangs his knee on the window-frame, and falls the rest of the way inside. "Whoa, dude. Take it easy, huh?"

"Jesus Christ," Alex groans. It takes him a moment to go from fetal position to all fours and he glares up at Daniel, who's lying on the bed. "You total _dick_. Can you not?" 

"But I can and I must," Daniel counters loftily. He crooks an arm behind his head and closes his eyes. After pacing himself earlier, he's now the perfect amount of wasted where colors blend and he feels one layer removed from the world, seeing it through a layer of gossamer. It's a nice state to be in.

There's a sound of the window sliding shut, and then the foot of the bed shifts with new weight. "What the hell are you doing in my room anyway?"

"Oh, you know. I was looking around for my bloodletting robe and then suddenly I wanted to lie down, so here I am."

"Great. I thought I was gonna miss it but they haven't even started yet?" 

"I don't know, man. I think Stevens is out there." Daniel shrugs serenely. "Whatever. I'm subscribing to the Buddhist philosophy now. You know, live in the moment, all that stuff. No worrying about the future."

"Right," Alex says. "I didn't know Buddhists were so fond of cocaine."

Daniel cracks an eye. "They're not. They're fond of ecstasy. They only dabble in cocaine." When Alex laughs, Daniel closes it again, satisfied. "Buddy, I am teaching you so many good lessons here," he tells him blindly. "You don't even need to go back to school."

Before Alex can answer, a faint goat screech cuts through the night. "Alright. C'mon," he grunts. He's already off the bed and putting on his robe by the time Daniel gets himself to blink his eyes open. 

"What's the big hurry?" 

"The big hurry is," Alex says distractedly, because for some reason he can't get dressed and hold a conversation at the same time, "I'm supposed to meet up with Sean and them in an hour."

"Ooh, mom's gonna be pissed," Daniel teases. 

Sean Halloran was with Alex the night he accidentally drove Mom's new G-Wagen off the road. Daniel and Emilie had waited at the top of the stairs until Alex got home, equally scared and excited to witness the favorite child get torn a new one, but all that happened was the whole, _Bad influence, those Hallorans. I'm very disappointed_ , spiel and then Mom dismissed him with a simple wave of her hand, the one that was faintly blackened with a pentagram on the palm.

"Who gives a shit. Can you please get your ass up?"

Daniel spreads his arms out in a _yes, my liege_ kind of gesture as he obeys, but then the room jolts and he has to grab at the desk for balance as soon as he's on his feet. Alex already has the door open, still gripping the handle while he watches Daniel stumble around.

"Daniel," he says, sharp. 

"Jesus, alright, hold on one fucking second," he snaps back. The back lawn is visible through the window, empty except for the single square of light shining through the kitchen doors. "Nobody's even on their way yet so can you unclench? Since when have you been so excited about ritual sacrifice?"

Alex rolls his eyes. "Uh, I don't know, since it started standing in the way of shit I actually wanna do?"

"Ah, I see. Must be nice to think of it as just another chore on the ol' chore wheel," Daniel sing-songs sarcastically, slipping on his own robe. He starts moving toward the door but pulls up when Alex says, "Dude. Like, not to normalize this even more, but it's only a fucking goat. And I'd much rather it be a fucking goat than anything else."

Daniel just looks at him, his pale, serious face underneath the dumb Sith Lord hood. Every once in a while there are these brief glimpses of something unnerving in him, something that Daniel isn't sure he wants to examine more closely. Mostly he tries to convince himself that it's not actually real. After all, he's the one who ate the poison apple, he's the one who jumped on the grenade, it was all him. There shouldn't be any of it in Alex.

"That's weird," Daniel says in faux confusion. "I could've sworn you said you _didn't_ want to normalize blood offerings but I think you just did. Huh."

"Seriously, don't give me this martyr complex bullshit right now, okay? Can we just go and get this stupid thing over with?"

Still, neither of them move. This could easily escalate to the same kind of fight they've had a million times before, where at least one of them gets pissy and passive-aggressive, and _you can't change the fucking past_ is yelled about three times. Daniel wants to say, _don't you get it? It's not always going to be a fucking goat._

But fuck it. What does he know? Nobody else expects anything of him, so maybe he should stop expecting anything of himself. 

"Yeah, okay, you're right. Deescalate," he cedes. Alex's face softens. "Let's go. High ho, high ho," Daniel recites, swinging his arms jauntily, "it's off to work we go."

He's on his second run through the chorus when they join the rest of the family by the doors, singing gibberish syllables since he doesn't actually know all the lyrics. Aunt Helene is flaying him alive with her stare but Mom smiles tightly and smooths an invisible wrinkle off his shoulder. 

"Can you please take this seriously?" Dad asks in a weary voice, as he always does. 

"It's my defense mechanism, Dad," Daniel tells him. 

"Exactly how many do you need? This is only, oh, your eightieth one," Dad points out. 

Aunt Helene leads the pack, striding out to the lawn like she's on a Paris runway. The gossamer is gone now, taking his protective layer with it and leaving him alone in the cold, just listening to the sounds of his own breathing. His shoes are getting dampened with every step through the grass, but the annoyance of numb toes is a good distraction from how the image of Alex's cold expression keeps trying to invade his head. 

The thing is, a part of Daniel has never stopped trying to punish someone for that night three decades ago. Majority of the time he's punishing himself, but occasionally the target turns to his parents or Aunt Helene, or that goat-fucker Stevens, or sometimes, maybe unfairly, Alex. Usually it's a pointless fight like the one tonight, but the worst incident was when he'd shoved Alex into the very same chifforobe and held the door shut while Alex pounded on it and screamed to be let out. Daniel had been fourteen years old then, drunk and the hot kind of angry that hadn't yet burned off; he only remembers staring blankly at the floor the whole time as if he were possessed. 

Ultimately, what he's really afraid of is the possibility that everything he's done so far and all the fallout has been futile. Like he was trying to stop time by holding a finger against the ticking hand of a single watch.

Daniel startles when something touches his back -- they're almost to the barn and Alex is at his side now, leaning close and whispering, "High ho, high ho," as an olive branch, palm pressed against Daniel's shoulder blade. He's grinning, eyes expressive even in the dark. He seems fine, totally fine, and Daniel actually smiles as they walk in. 

iii.

Grace looks like she's popped up from a fairy tale storybook, her Rapunzel hair in an updo with four different kinds of braids. She's backlit by a trellis wrapped with tiny lights and the whole thing can be an ad for the perfect rooftop party. When Alex introduces her to Daniel, she smiles big but holds out her hand instead of going in for a hug.

"Grace," Daniel sighs, taking her hand with both of his. " _So_ nice to meet you, finally. Happy birthday."

He rubs his fingers along her wrist but her expression doesn't change. Either she's used to dealing with creeps or Alex has warned her about his brother. Both are equally likely, and that Venn diagram has heavy overlap anyway.

"Thanks. Alex has told me so many stories about you," she says, still smiling.

"All terrible?"

"None good," she corrects. "It sounds better when you put it that way."

Daniel finally lets go of her hand and points to his temple in acknowledgement. A moment later she's swooped away by Alex, making the rounds to some old college friends of his and leaving Daniel alone. Which is fine, because the open bar has some pretty top-notch stuff, probably because Alex knows what he likes, and it's a little humid but the blue-pink sunset and open air bookend each other nicely. People pass by and make conversation with him, though he only recognizes maybe 30% of them, and otherwise he's content to just sit at the bar in camaraderie with the bartender, watching everyone else bullshit with each other. 

Eventually the party moves indoors and some new people come and some old people leave and Daniel and the bartender have become silent best friends after a couple hours. He's shoving another $20 into the tip jar when he catches a glimpse of Alex moving through the room, holding his drink above his head to prevent any jostling. 

"Be right back," he tells the bartender, who looks startled to realize that someone has been there the whole time.

Alex is in the middle of introducing Grace to more people; Daniel passes by and grabs him by the neck to tow him along without pausing. He comes easily as usual, with only a helpless expression directed at Grace.

"Daniel!" Grace laughs in a way that makes it clear she's not laughing at all. 

"Just," Daniel holds up one finger, "just real quick, one second," and leaves her standing there with a frozen smile surrounded by b-school douchebags. He leads them both into the bathroom and closes the door. 

"What the fuck?" Alex finally says.

Daniel turns on the faucet and gestures to it. "Shut up. You have blood caked under your nails, dipshit."

"Oh goddammit," Alex sighs exasperatedly as he sticks his hands under the water. Daniel rips off a wad of toilet paper, wets it, and starts rubbing at a constellation of blood splatter behind his right ear. 

"Shit dude, were you part of a _Carrie_ reenactment? What the hell is all this?"

"There was a struggle," Alex mutters. He's done washing his hands but continues to stand still, letting Daniel finish up. "You know how Dad switched vets?"

"Yeah." Daniel swipes his thumb over the spot for the hell of it, then flushes the evidence and sidesteps around to wash his own hands. 

Alex leans against the counter, moving his face side to side in the mirror presumably to check for more Animal CSI shit. "Well, apparently this guy cheaps out on the sedatives. The thing woke up halfway through and almost kicked Fitch's head off."

Daniel chuckles. "Lego man missing his head? I would've loved to see that."

He slowly wipes his hands dry, entertaining himself with several imaginary scenes of Fitch in a halo with his jaw clamped shut, or a chorus line of twenty goats all kicking Fitch in the face, and then he catches Alex looking at him in the mirror. 

"Hey," Alex says kind of stupidly. 

Daniel faces him, somehow knowing not to ask. "Hey."

"I, uh," Alex starts. His hands are braced around the counter edge, head hanging down before he clears his throat and straightens up. "I wanted to tell you something."

Already Daniel is talking himself down from completely fucking losing it if Alex is going to try to marry this girl. "Okay," he says carefully.

"I was gonna wait til everyone left, but."

"Okay."

They stare at each other in silence. Finally, Alex says, "I'm not going back." 

"You're not going back," Daniel repeats. 

"No. That was the last time I'm doing it. That was -- that was the last time for any of it."

It takes a few seconds to process, second-guess himself, and reprocess. Something in Daniel's chest lurches. 

Alex is out. 

He can't quite parse how he's feeling -- relieved, sure. Jealous. Grateful. Angry. Regretful. Accomplished. All of it twists together into the exact mix of grim but deep satisfaction that he has never been able to find anywhere else. Satanic cult, five star rating. Best blend of emotional, physical, and soul-damning destruction this side of the Atlantic. 

He cups Alex's face with both hands and Alex automatically reaches up to grip his wrists, keeping them in place. This is it, Daniel thinks; this is the one good thing he's ever done in his life, fully realized. A lifetime of self-flagellation for this moment. Alex's eyes are bright and he's smiling in that sad way that's carved a hole into Daniel since they were toddlers.

"Good," he says fiercely. "Don't ever fucking go back."

The party has thinned out by the time they emerge from the bathroom but Daniel barely pays attention. He's elated, floating, actually feels like he might cry even though he doesn't really remember what that's like anymore. He hugs his soulmate bartender farewell and says bye with a silent fuck you to several cousins. Alex heads off to be a good host, with a quiet request that Daniel look for Grace, and it only takes him a few minutes to find her back up on the rooftop, hanging out against the low wall lining the edges.

"Hey," he calls. 

When she turns, a grey haze covers her face for a second and he realizes she's smoking. She doesn't turn back though, which he takes as an invitation to join her. 

"Sorry for being a dick, before," he says when he's close enough. "There was an urgent big brother issue. Very important."

"Are you implying that being a dick is out of the ordinary, or…"

"I mean, yes, this is my baseline but also I'm not proud of it, and isn't that what really matters in the end?"

Grace snorts. "I guess that's all I can ask for in this crowd." Her braids have loosened and there's a pink tinge to her nose. Still, it takes a moment for him to recognize that she's pretty drunk. "Alex says you're the tortured type. I can't tell if that's bullshit or not."

"Por que no los dos? Depends on the day, really." 

Being back outside has had a calming effect, with the cool air and being high up and away from the noisy streets. He tracks a cab as it drives soundlessly up the block and says, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"It's your party but Alex was the one showing you around to everyone." Graces glances at him. He adds, "Sometimes I'm polite enough to be subtle."

She smiles off into the distance, smoke unfolding from her mouth. "Well, my friends are mostly on the West Coast. And I never knew my family because my mom left me in a dumpster when I was a week old." 

The yellowing light by the roof access door paints a sallow layer onto her hair. She keeps smoking steadily like a character in a noir film, looking out onto the city. 

"Don't tell my mom," Daniel finally says. "She'd be really pissed she never thought of that when she had me." 

"Who'd be really pissed about what?" Alex cuts in from behind them before settling in on Daniel's other side, unknowingly steering them away from 'weird spiral of personal baggage' and back to 'normal rooftop afterparty'.

"Mom," Daniel answers, "about not leaving me in a dumpster when she had the chance."

"Stop," Alex tells him, half-laughing. "Mom and Dad love you. You just push them away."

"Hmm," is all Daniel says. Apparently that's what they're calling it when there's company around. He holds his hand out in front of Grace and she automatically passes him the cigarette without missing a beat. It's one of those weird menthol crush ones but still, the drag is more satisfying that he thought it'd be and he groans as he exhales.

"Right?" Grace asks. Alex taps him on the shoulder and he takes one more puff before handing it to him, though he keeps his eyes on Grace. 

"Goddammit, that's good," he says, strained, trying to breathe out the smoke as slow as possible.

She nods at him. "Yeah, I know. Fuck Juul. Also, I quit eight years ago if anyone asks."

"Me too. Emergency packs only."

"I never smoked," Alex says on his other side, in between hits so intense that the cherry crackles audibly. 

"Sure. Our little angel," Daniel agrees. 

He plants a hand on top of Alex's hair and wiggles him back and forth. Alex makes a face but otherwise keeps his hands at his sides and makes no attempt at escape. The whole time Grace is smiling at them, the toes of her flats shyly scuffing up against the stucco wall. She looks like she's found her place in the world. She looks happy.

iv.

Nobody else is awake. Even Aunt Helene is nowhere to be seen, probably sleeping upside-down in the basement somewhere. This is the most peaceful part of the day so far and he actually feels alright as he pours himself some scotch before flopping down onto the sofa. The drink goes quick, empty before he even knows it. His eyes have adjusted by now to the dark and it's easy enough to get a refill and sit back down without turning on any lights. 

At first he thinks it's Alex coming down a little early, but then he sees shadowy blonde hair and Grace is standing there in sleep shorts and a huge t-shirt emblazoned with _Santa Cruz, CA_ across the chest in faded red.

"Hey," she says, wary. "You're still up?"

For a moment, they just look at each other. He asks, "What are you doing?"

"I couldn't sleep. Obviously." She pauses. "Now I'm waiting for you to say something weird or creepy so that I have a good excuse to go back to my room."

Daniel points to her with the same hand that's holding the glass of Macallan. "You caught me off guard and it's two in the fucking morning, so I have nothing prepared. Feel free to go back to bed bereft."

"Shit. My first disappointment as a Le Domas." Apparently she makes the decision to stay, padding over and sitting down next to him instead of heading back to the staircase. 

"Whoa, hey. You're not a Le Domas yet," he cautions. 

"Aaaaand there it is," she announces, making as if to get up again but he manages to grab her forearm and pull her back down. 

"I meant that in like a 'savor this moment' kind of way," he says expansively. "Cling to the last moments of existing in a somewhat normal world. Listen to your gut when it tells you to just run, run far away."

She's sitting sideways with her legs bent up, leaning back against the sofa arm and watching the performance with a little half-smile. "I can't tell what kind of Daniel you are right now."

When he raises his eyebrows questioningly, Grace swipes a hand down the length of her face and says, "You know. What kind of mask you're wearing."

"Ah. Right. Well, I think this is just straight up drunk Daniel, sans mask."

"Oh, wow. Not even drunk creepy uncle Daniel? Or drunk Willy Wonka Daniel? I'm kinda partial to that one."

"Costume gallery is closed till tomorrow," Daniel informs. "So? How's it going so far? You shitting a brick yet?"

"Duh. Everything is so -- well, I guess you're all used to it," she corrects herself mid-sentence, laughing self-deprecatingly. 

Daniel hums, examining the wall opposite them. A giant oil portrait of their family is hanging there, encased in an ostentatious swirly gold frame. The three of them were teenagers at the time. He and Alex had shaggy bowl cuts in reality, but the painting has them looking clean-cut and sober. This monstrosity is the only image in the house that's related to the current iteration of their family; everything else is dedicated to old ancestors who went around making dogshit Faustian deals.

For some reason, he finds himself saying, "Charity was in the foster system, too."

"Uh," says Grace.

He turns to her. She's giving him a strange look, one that has her brows pulled down and makes her eyes appear even bigger, and he zones out for a second under the scrutiny. It's been a long time since someone looked at him like that, like they were trying to figure him out. It's been an even longer time since he actually wanted someone to work out the answer. 

"I had no idea," she eventually says.

"Yeah." He blinks and stares back into his drink, at the single ice cube glittering in the dark. "Single mom, in and out of prison. Charity stayed with her aunt a lot. Didn't bounce around as much as you did.

"Don't, you know. Try to connect with her about this," he adds. "For your own safety."

"Of course. And yours too, because who else would've told me?"

"Oof. Veiled threats already, bravo," Daniel crows, holding up his glass and taking a sip. "You'll fit right in with us."

Grace hugs her knees and laughs. He can see that she's slightly giddy, exuding the energy of a kid on Christmas Eve. Previously he had liked seeing her happy, when he thought Alex would do the smart thing; now it's the worst expression he can imagine. 

"You're excited," he states. 

"Yeah."

"I'm happy for you guys," he tells her plainly. 

She seems unsettled by this, but replies, "Hey, I think straight up drunk Daniel is my new favorite."

He doesn't respond, and then it's quiet. Stevens is probably making his way out to the barn now for the prep. Daniel's own pre-marriage day ritual is a smeared memory, but supposedly it's a real doozy. 

"Well. It's late. I'm gonna..." Grace points to the ceiling. Completely random good timing on her part, because he knows Mom had slipped in a slow-release sedative to Grace's nightcap and it should start working soon. 

"Yeah. Of course," he says. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is gonna kick your ass."

She grins. "I'm ready." 

He watches her walk away, silently toasting her as she turns the corner, and sits alone until the clock reads 2:55am, which is when Aunt Helene slithers into the room. "Oh good, your shift at the _Spirit Halloween_ store is over, we can get started," Daniel declares. 

"This marriage ritual is sacred," Aunt Helene says stiffly. "It is not in good form to make jokes if we wish to please Mr. Le Bail."

He huffs out a laugh. Whether Le Bail is pleased or not, deep down, Daniel knows what that fucking card will say. He knew it the moment he first met her -- she was good in the same way that Charles had been good, in the way that the Le Domases didn't deserve. That's a lesson he should know by now but has had to relearn over and over again: good gets you nowhere. Good makes you a dummy. Good gets you bleeding out on a table and buried alongside farm animals for eternity. Shitty gets you playing Old Maid by a fireplace with a charcuterie plate at your side and a gram of coke in your pocket. Shitty keeps you warm and alive.

 _Be shitty_ , he thinks to himself, and drains the rest of his drink. 

v.

"Go," he tells her thickly, though it's difficult to speak past the blood. "Go."


End file.
